


Political Pursuits

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [38]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rank Disparity, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 21:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Washington bides his time, but he's not happy about it.





	Political Pursuits

Even without stewing over his more personal impatience, Washington hates ferrying high-level Federation officials.

For one thing, it feels like a waste of his crew’s fierce talents—a violation of their mandate—they are explorers, not a chauffeur service. Never mind that the contested sector is a tumultuous one, or that the risks more than justify requisitioning one of Starfleet’s best trained and outfitted vessels. He still can’t shake the feeling of spinning his wheels.

For another, Washington does not appreciate the claustrophobic air that accompanies his superiors and guests into the corridors of the Nelson. Beyond Admirals Braddock and Dinwiddie—and the Federation’s dozen official ambassadors—there is a crowded collection of researchers, diplomats, envoys and other support staff. They spread out across the Nelson, quartered in every available berth.

Washington does not appreciate the sensation of being boxed in on his own ship.

He has, at the very least, the consolation of his chess games with the crew most nights, and the fact that Hamilton is always in attendance. The lack of privacy is a continuing frustration, and one he knows his boy shares. The need to be discreet and circumspect means they can share nothing but wordless glances and superficial conversation. Nothing to draw attention—nothing more intimate than Washington’s exchanges with anyone else during these unofficial tournaments—nothing to suggest a closer connection.

The two fleet admirals mostly keep to themselves, staying in and near their quarters, stuffily refusing to dine in the mess halls amid the crew. 

This is perfectly fine by Washington. He has no desire to socialize with them either.

The diplomatic staff is another matter entirely. Not just junior staffers and attachés come and go; some nights even the ambassadors themselves turn up. There is no standing of rank to stifle social efforts, after all, and Washington gets the distinct impression many of them are desperate for camaraderie.

It is not so much desperation he detects when Ambassador von Steuben challenges him to a match. More like playful curiosity dancing across the man’s round, expressive face.

There is something endlessly easy in the man’s demeanor, as though he is unaware of the quagmire of official decorum surrounding Washington and this assignment. The fact that he’s an experienced diplomat—and claims to be nobility from the highest echelons of his adoptive homeworld—belies this willful oblivion. But somehow his earnest sincerity makes it impossible to decipher truth from fiction.

Washington accepts von Steuben’s challenge, even though Hamilton is close by and would certainly have taken the seat across from Washington given another ten seconds to maneuver. They can’t very well let on to this high-ranking diplomat that these unofficial tournaments are a mere pretext allowing him to be near his communications chief off-duty.

He and Hamilton _should_ have reached a place where such subterfuges are unnecessary. It’s irrationally tempting to blame von Steuben, present and smiling jovially, for the fact that Washington can’t take his boy somewhere more private.

“You play well.” Von Steuben’s teasing lie reflects in the mischievous brown of his eyes. Washington is _not_ playing well tonight; he is expending far too much effort in keeping his gaze focused forward. It’s remarkably difficult not to track Hamilton’s every movement with his eyes. Under these conditions, naturally his strategy has suffered.

“You flatter me, Ambassador,” Washington retorts dryly. He does not bother calling out the blatant untruth.

Von Steuben laughs and moves his remaining bishop across the board. Check. Washington isn’t especially disappointed that the game will be ending quickly.

It is only the hope of Hamilton joining him next that keeps Washington from throwing the game and turning in. He’s ready to call it a night.

But he also misses his boy. So Washington narrows his eyes, studies the board, and continues to play.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Quagmire, Box, Spread


End file.
